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3^1 



IN MANY KEYS 



IN MANY KEYS 



BY 



MARY KEELY TAYLOR 



PRIVATELY PRINTED 
1912 



^^^ 






Copyright, igi2 
By Mary Keely Taylor. 



THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. 






TO 

THE BELOVED MEMORY 

OF 

MY DEAR FATHER 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Uenvoi ix 

The Balm of Gilead Tree i 

Love's Test 4 

Our Birthday 5 

A Christmas Greeting 6 

A Lover Considers, Compares, Concludes ... 7 

Kismet 12 

A Fallen Leaf 13 

My Star 15 

Mustered Out 16 

A Wood Violet 19 

Nightfall 21 

Hyacinths 23 

Endymion 24 

Egeria 26 

Miranda 28 

A Valentine 29 

From the Beach — I 31 

From the Beach — II 32 

Twenty Years After 33 

Only a Word 36 

At Last 38 

Memories 40 

The Captain's Prize 46 

vii 



Contents 

Page 

Tout Lasse: Tout Casse: Tout Passe : 49 

The Hour will Come 51 

The Poet's Grave 53 

On the Way Home 55 

Persicos Odi, Puer, Apparatus 56 

Dick the Discontented 58 

Sunt Lachrymae Rerum 60 

A Remonstrance 61 

A Challenge 64 

In Old Madrid 66 

After the Ball 69 

Serenade 71 

Why? 73 

Sonnets: 

I. Sweet is that solitude 75 

n. Love came to thee 76 

HI. Shemnitz 77 

IV. November 78 

A Last Word 79 

FOR KATHERINE AND ELIZABETH 

A Fairy Song 83 

In a Closet 87 

pro bono publico 

Hymn for Decoration Day 93 

A Song of the Century 96 

viii 



VENVOI 



HAND unskilled may touch and try the strings, 
With vagrant fancies charming care away, 
Some solace oft such idle music brings. 
Whether the tune be plaintive, bold, or gay. 



A 



II 

Not these the notes the master's hand awakes 
When Art her gift to heaven-born Genius lends. 

And o'er the chords his soul impassioned breaks 
In sound that all our mortal speech transcends. 

Ill 

Yet may the master smile, sometimes, to hear 
The faint, imperfect music that betrays 

A kindred impulse, to his spirit dear. 

And, smiling, pardon what he cannot praise. 



THE BALM OF GILEAD TREE 



FATE overtakes us all! 
I blame not the decree that bade thee fall; 
And yet, thou quaint old tree, 
My soul resents the stroke that shattered thee, 
In all thy spring-time show of bravery. 

Still cheerful at the core. 
Greeting the May so gallantly once more. 



II 

Alas, when we are old, 
The invisible deep roots of life take hold 

Upon a Past unknown 
To newer generations; I had grown 
To love thee for the memories thou alone. 

Year after year, with me 
Sweetly didst share, thou Balm of Gilead tree! 



The Balm of Gilead Tree 



III 

How long ago it seems 
Since first, a child, just mingling truth with dreams, 

I stayed my steps to greet 
Thy gracious shadow in the village street; 
For I had heard beloved lips repeat 

Old words that seemed to bear 
A charm — of Gilead and the Healer there. 



IV 

Dimly my heart perceived 
Their mystic meaning; dimly I believed 

God set thee there for good; 
Wherefore, with childish faith, devout I stood 
Beneath thy blossoming boughs, assured He would 

From those green depths bless me, — 
A little soul, aware of poverty. 



Ah! many a year since then 
Great storms have shaken thee, sweet suns again 
Made glad thine heart; and I — 

2 



The Balm of Gilead Tree 

■I too have tossed in tempests, faced the cry 
Of hungry winds, and seen at last the sky 

Look forth, divinely blue; 
Not all a dream, that trust my childhood knew! 



VI 

Well hast thou done thy part. 
Thy wayside warning to each careless heart 

Whispering, the summer through! 
Might man but learn of thee to be as true 
To His dear law Who gave thee light and dew, 

And bade thee to the end 
With shelter, shade, and strength His earth befriend. 

VII 

Farewell! — 'tis transient pain; 
Yet O, whene'er this heart, a child again, 

Drawn close to Memory's breast. 
Hears the old voices lulling doubt to rest 
And owns the first beliefs are still the best, 

I shall remember thee. 
Thou fragrant messenger of peace to me! 



LOVE'S TEST 

Le vent qui Heint une lumVere allume un hr aster. 

Beaumarchais 



PAST twelve! and chill through my shutter 
A gust of the nlght-wInd sweeps; 
In the grate it startles the embers, 
And the answering blaze up-leaps; 
It flares the lamp on my table, 

And the scared flame cowers and creeps 
And dies in the dark. So work ends. 
What task now the little wife keeps.? 



II 

I shut my book; in the shadow 

I sit and muse how stern 
Blows the pitiless blast of Fate. — What! 

You are come. Sweet.? Ah, I turn 
To the lips and the heart that love me! 

Why I sit in the dark? — I learn 
How a frail love dies of the hardship 

That makes ours sparkle and burn ! 
4 



OUR BIRTHDAY 
To E. P. M. 



HOW shy and sad this Child of Spring! 
Her secret spell 

In wood and dell 
She weaves with tears; her task is done. 
Nor stays she for the blossoming; 
While May flowers bud and bluebirds sing, 

April is gone; 

And none makes moan: 
But you and I will not forget 
A mark beside her grave to set. 



A CHRISTMAS GREETING 



A SIGH — a whisper, far away, 
May reach an ear attuned to hear; 
And I could half believe, to-day. 
Your spirit knows that mine is near. 



II 

Be well! be happy! so I pray. 

While round me reigns high Christmas cheer 
I, for a moment, seem to stay 

Beside you: do you think so, Dear.^ 



A LOVER CONSIDERS, COMPARES, 
CONCLUDES 



BUY coal! buy coal!" — 
You hear it, Marguerite, 
Far down the distant street. 
That lamentable, long-drawn cry — 
And smile among your cushions where you lie, 
With satin-slippered feet, 

Deep in the velvet curve of that quaint chair 
Carved like a shrine above your golden head: 
What are you thinking. Sweet? 



II 

We note the difference, it may be said: 

Outside, the wintry air. 

Sharp as his voice that pierces like a knife; 

The black and grimy trade; 

The rough humanity that all its life 

Is doomed to jolt and bawl 

Beneath men's windows: hear the dolorous call; 

"Buy coal! buy coal!" 

7 



A Lover Considers, Compares, Concludes 

While here are warmth and bloom: 

The glowing grate that tempts your graceful foot 

To perch upon the fender; flowers 

That make a silent summer in the room; 

Books, music, art; 

And you, the cause and crown 

Of all this beauty, sit here, smiling down 

On me, whose part 

In the scene is to adore you — and I do! 

Flower of my heart. 

Blossoming so far above the world's dark root; 

But human, too! 

Ill 

"Buy coal! buy coal!" — 

That faint and vanishing cry. 

How all unlike the sigh 

With which, deliciously, you sink 

Again among your cushions and (I think) 

With soft approving eye 

Survey the ring that white hand deigns to wear. 

My ring — and yours! our sacred solitaire! 

"Splendid," you said. But I 

Seem to look down into the blackness where 

(Of us two unaware!) 

8 



A Lover Considers^ Compares, Concludes 

Fast wedged beneath the Immeasurable weight 

Of aeons, slept this spark of fire. 

Crystallized carbon? — So 

The chemist says, and In its last estate 

How Infinitely higher 

The world esteems it than this mean 

Carbonaceous stuff, the common, the unclean, 

Whose steady, watchful glow 

Defying Night and Winter, guards so well 

Your beauty's citadel! 

But true these loyal Carbons to their own: 

Their immemorial line 

Burns in your grate, and sparkles In your stone; 

The secret of the mine — 

What lights the diamond in Its rayless cell 

They do not tell! 

IV 

What think you. Marguerite? 

Is your thought mine, here kneeling at your feet? 
Ah, smile before you speak — 
So the pure oval of that faultless cheek 
Rounds to a lovelier line! 

"From coal to diamond a far cry," you say? 
Ay! — and a far cry, too 

9 



A Lover Considers, Compares, Concludes 

From yonder blackened toller in the street, 

My exquisite girl, — to you ! 

That rude soul fated in its own dark way 

To live and love, to suffer and to pray, 

Like us — perhaps — some day. 

Shall it be named with yours? — be named and owned? 

V 
Now, your heart speaks! 

Now shines, tear-lighted, in those deepening eyes 
The vision my soul seeks — 
The fair true self, whose sweet humanities 
Cheapen and put to shame 
The tawdry elements of dust that claim 
Homage and servitude from such as you! — 
All vain, false, foolish things 
Drop off their flimsy wings 
And perish in the sunlight and the dew 
Of love and pity God has made 
To fill the heaven of a pure woman's heart! 

VI 

O, take your pleasure, undismayed, 
Laugh, dance, my Sweet, and wear 
Whatever 's rich and rare; 

lO 



A Lover Considers, Compares, Concludes 

I know where hides my jewel, unconfessed! 

I know the heart that beats beneath this vest 

So broidered and beset 

With flowery fancies, wrought 

After some marvellous fashion, brought 

Across the Atlantic to adorn you. Yet, 

When these slow days are done, 

When you, my Love, are won. 

Won, past all argument, question, or retreat, — 

When I shall listen closer to the beat 

Of that dear heart, — will fear 

Startle my own, to hear 

How yours, all woman, denying naught to mine, 

Is yet, divine! 



II 



KISMET 



MANY a thing the heart divines 
In its first dim youth, 
Half aware of days unborn, 
While yet in the front of morn 
The Star of Childhood shines: 
Many a thing the coming years 
Seal with slow, reluctant tears 
For truth. 



II 

Mock not thou the childish woe; 
Soothe the groundless fear: 
What prophetic shadow may 
That little helpless heart dismay 
Alas! we cannot know. 

In mystery our lives unfold; 
Yonder the secret may be told; 
Not here! 



12 



A FALLEN LEAF 



POOR faded leaf, blown shivering down to me, 
Was it for this, thy home was fixed so far 
Beyond the rude hand's reach, where winds are 
free 
In yon blue deep, and heaven so near to thee 

Thou might'st unblamed have deemed thyself a star? 

II 

Was it for this that thou, the fairest there, 
First of thy kindred felt the kiss of dawn. 

Beloved of the sunshine? — first didst share 

The dewy whisper of the evening air. 

And caught the pale moon's earliest smile forlorn? 

Ill 

Alas! there came to thee an evil day 

When, with his subtle whisper, sweet and strange, 
The late Year sought thee, dancing on thy spray, 
And stole the freshness from thy heart away, 

And flushed thy cheek, amazed, with crimson change. 

13 



A Fallen Leaf 



IV 

Flame-tinged and glowing in thy wayside tower, 

Thou wast the wonder of the passer-by; 
Perchance a marvel to thyself, that hour 
When all thy being owned the fatal power 

That matched thy splendor with the sunset sky. 



Brief was thy dream! The frost is keen to-night, 

And thou, poor outcast, tremblest in the dust, 
Where heedless footsteps tread thee out of sight. 
And none remembers thee to mourn thy blight — 
From light — from life — to outer darkness thrust! 



14 



MY STAR 



AST falls the summer night 

O'er field and wood, and this dark silent stream, 
Where, resting on my oars, I watch day's light 
Withdraw its last red beam. 



F 



II 

Lo, in the west one star 

From heaven's clear deep looks at me wistfully; 
Later, a host will follow, brighter far, 

But none so dear to me. 



Ill 

For thus, when life is done, 

And Death's great shadow darkens o'er mine eyes, 
For me shall thy lost face, our bliss begun, 

Open God's Paradise. 



15 



MUSTERED OUT 



THE cricket chirps in the orchard; 
The night grows sweet with the scent of the 
barley sheaves, 
The wind is still; not a breath stirs the shadow of 
leaves 

The moon draws on the wall; 
And close under my window I hear an apple fall. 



II 

O that old scent of the barley! 
And the apples lying so cool in the dew-wet grass! 
There was once a way, by the broken steps, you could 
pass 

To the orchard unseen: 
Many 's the night that way — after an apple — I 've 
been. 

i6 



Mustered Out 

III 

She would come too, the wild girlie! 
Slipping out under the sumachs behind the shed door, 
White and noiseless — a spirit, a dream — she never 
seemed more; 

How we laughed when I sprung 
Out from the bushes, and caught her! — Ah, we were 



young! 



IV 



"Poor boy!" they say. "What a pity!" 
Why, my youth dropped dead in her grave! 'twas all 

the same, then, 
In camp, on the march, in the field, I cared for the men. 

Not for my own life — no! 
And here I lie, glad of the pain that means I 'm to go. 



But it 's good to lie here again 
In the boys' attic chamber, under the low brown eaves, 
W^atching once more the wall, and the curious shadow 
of leaves. 

Dreaming of her the same 
As I dreamed years ago, when nightfall between us came. 

17 



Mustered Out 



VI 

Darkness and sleep — -then the waking! 
Dawn and her face! O my God, shall it be so again? 
She said so. Thought of that shamed away many a stain 

From a soul none too pure. 
I 've been true to you, Love! In heaven I could not be 
truer. 

VII 

O good-bye, dark world of sorrow! 
That's the last stab! — Now her little soft hand in my 

breast 
Comes, stilling the anguish, hushing the heart's throb 
to rest. 

And her whisper! — She said, 
"Sleep and peace for us both, in the holy home of the 
dead!" 



A WOOD VIOLET 

— If it have breath, 
If life taste sweet to it, if death 
Pain its soft petal, no man knows. 

Swinburne 



LINGERING, I stoop to look 
On thee, lone dweller in thy forest nook! 
Violet, thou dost not miss 
This summer eve, thy little share of bliss! 
Surely thou findest it sweet 
Thy tiny tribute, at His gracious feet, 
From that unstained cup, 
Pure as in Paradise, to offer up! 



II 

To leave thee, I am loth, 
Alike we sleep and wake; alike for both 
Draws near the Unknown — Death! 
And hast thou not, with that brief, exquisite breath 

19 



A Wood Violet 

Whispering of Love divine, 

Brought His own message to this heart of mine? 

Thou hast not lived in vain; 

May'st thou in some far Eden bloom again! 



20 



NIGHTFALL 



DARK between thy banks, O lonely River, 
All day long thy restless waters moan; 
In the busy summer fields, unheeded, 
Like some mournful music's undertone, 
Still their murmur saddens everywhere 
Labor's ceaseless din, beneath the noontide glare. 



II 

But when night along the misty valley 

Steals, and shuts the door of forge and mill, 

Hushing all the stir of toil and traffic, 

While the twilight air breathes cool and still, — 

Then thy voice calls loud across the hills. 

And with sound supreme the darkening silence fills. 

21 



Nightfall 



III 

All day long the lonely heart keeps sighing; 

Toil and thought resist its yearning prayer; 
Life needs many things, nor stays for pity: 

But night comes at last; day's strife and care 
Die forgotten; then, O heart of mine. 
Have thy way! The silence and the dark are thine. 



22 



HYACINTHS 



PURPLE and white and rose! 
Out of the sad black mould 
The fragrant spikes unclose, 
The Hyacinth buds and blows. 

But how, in the dark and cold, 
Each blossom its duty knows 
To be purple, or white, or rose. 
No Hyacinth ever has told! 

II 

Purple, and white, and rose — 
A dream of the hues that fleet 

At sunset o'er Alpine snows. 

And ever the wonder grows 

That a bulb in my window-seat. 

Here by the salt sea, knows 

How the Jungfrau pales and glows, 
When Twilight kisses her feet! 



23 



ENDYMION 



"Blessed, methinks, is the lot of him that sleeps, and tosses not, nor turns: 
even Endymion." 

Theocritus, Idyl III. 



"TJTUSH!" she said, "ye Winds that visit Latmos! 
J £ Breathe no whisper where Endymion Hes, 
Lost to earth beneath the brooding skies; 
Closer creep, ye silvery Mists of midnight, 
Let no keen-eyed Star his sleep surprise. 



II 

"Lull him, O ye Dews, — he must not waken! 

Steep his chilly senses In a dream 

Deep and dim, where this fond face shall seem, 
Softly gliding earthward through the shadows, 

Like a meteor pale to pause and gleam. 



24 



Endymion 



III 

"No — whate'er betide, he must not waken! 
Only while he sleeps, Love dares be bold, 
Lingering o'er the lips to kisses cold; 

Only in the dreaming ear that misses 
Half its meaning, shall the tale be told. 



IV 

" Fate is cruel, my beloved — sorrow 

Comes with knowledge: never mortal heart 
Learned its bliss except with bliss to part. 

Mine it is to know how much I love thee! 
Thine to dream — thrice happy that thou art! 



"Happy? — Yes, through all the troubled ages 
Nothing changes in this dream of thine, 
By Love's sacred silence made divine; 

All things fade and fail that are not shadows: 
Sleep," she sighed, "in sleep forever mine!" 

25 



EGERIA 



WHAT whispered she to him 
Beside the water dim, 
Under the misty shade of leaves that clung 
So thick about the fountain? Dark and sweet 
The veiled night her silence o'er them hung; 

No sound of wandering feet, 
Nor stealthy step of sylvan creature stirred 
Among the wood-paths; far away he heard 

Rome's midnight pulses beat, 
But heeded not. What whispered she to him 
Beneath the shadowy leaves, beside the water dim? 



II 

Some secret, dread and old, 
From mortals over-bold 
Hid by the high and jealous gods alway? 

Some rune of things that were or things to be, 
Or sage enchantment wherewith princes sway 
The round earth and the sea, 
26 



Egeria 

And happy hearts of men? So legends say. 
Was it for this their wise King stole away 

From pomp and revelry, 
To that lone dell where, by the fountain's brim, 
His dewy-sandalled love kept tryst with him? 



Ill 

Ah, but the place was sweet! 

Beneath his heedless feet 
He crushed the fern and deep delicious bloom 

Of violets. Sweeter to his soul her kiss, 
Her arms that clasped him in the fragrant gloom. 

Her sigh of timid bliss! 
Discrowned awhile, his brow upon her breast 
Forgot its burden; dear he was, and blest. 

Perchance she whispered this — 
'T was all she knew! Would'st thou her secret share ?- 
"Where Love is found, the wise find Wisdom there." 



27 



MIRANDA 

"But you, O you, 
So perfect and so peerless are created 
Of every creature's best!" 

The Tempest. Act III., Scene I. Shakspeare. 

THOU pearl of maids, Miranda, — stainless, free, 
Fearless of evil, yet not over-bold! 
Thy beauty haunts my heart; beside the sea 
In dreams, methinks I do companion thee. 

Where 'neath the moon the waves shine silver-cold, 
And thou, with gentlest shape of airy state, 

And young eyes bright with innocent command, 
While Ariel's whisp'ring sprites around thee wait, 
On the wide shore in musing mood dost stand. 

High o'er thee darkens all the wooded isle, 
Beneath thee all the stars in ocean smile. 

And in thy face the lone and lovely night 
Is mirrored lovelier! Maiden without guile. 

Thou in that solitude hast no affright. 
But murmurest to thyself a song the while 

That charms the sleeping sea to deeper hush of light! 

28 



A VALENTINE 
To E. H. R. 



LADY, I know a prison 
Where a captive pineth, 
A dungeon dark and deep, 
Where no beam of noonday shinethj 
And the sweet consoling stars 
Through those unrelenting bars 
Never peep. 



II 

He is young but wasted 
With a silent sorrow; 
He dares not hope to-day 
Nor can hope to-morrow; 
Yet from life he may not part 
Till the fires in his heart 
Die away. 

29 



A Valentine 



III 

Oft have I thought him dead, 
And his pain past forever, 
But he only slept 
To waken wild as ever; 
His prayer for liberty, 
Lady, grieved even me, 
Till I wept. 

IV 

O shall I set him free — 
The Boy in prison lying? 
'T is but a word from thee 
And the door is open flying! 
Thou only hast the key; 
Will mercy sweet please thee, 
Emily? 



30 



FROM THE BEACH— I 



DEAR little Boat, home-faring 
Across the white-capped sea, 
I watch thee toss and tremble 
Like the foolish heart in me: 
Yet shoreward thou art speeding, 

No homing bird flies truer; 
Thy master's hand is steady. 
Thy master's eye is sure. 

II 

Why should I dread the tempest? 

The stress of coming years? 
Why doubt the distant harbor 

So dimly seen through tears? 
I, too, may keep, though trembling, 

A course as true as thine. 
For, happy Boat, thy Master 

Steers, too, this heart of mine! 



31 



FROM THE BEACH — II 



COME with me! 
The light wind and the sea 
Laugh along the sunny shore together; 
'T is summer weather! 
My little sail is dancing on the foam; 
Yon fairy isle to-day shall be our home! 
O come with me! ' 



II 
Come with me! 
The storm is on the sea; 

Wild 'mid the surge that o'er us dashes 
The lightning flashes; 
We must drive headlong now before the gale; 
I know not whither, nor how far, we sail, 
But — come with me! 



32 



TWENTY YEARS AFTER 



WELL, Time has touched you tenderly! 
I knew he would! Was ever yet 
Real or fabled, any he 
Who, In your presence, could forget 
The courtesy, the reverence, due 
To all our faith enshrines in you? 



II 



The day for flattery, you say, 

Is past? The smile with which that's said 

Is just the same that used to turn — 

When head and heart were light — my head. 

And would they now — those serious eyes — 

Persuade me that I Ve grown more wise? 

33 



Tzventy Years After 



III 

Wiser and sadder? Yes — perhaps! 

So much the more 't is well to feel 

That where one worshipped in one's youth 

Is still the fittest place to kneel. 

No man whose heart you Ve deigned to school 

Looks back to call himself a fool! 



IV 

That 's something to be thankful for — 
When first illusions, thinning fast, 
Begin to show how flat and drear 
Life's real coast-line lies at last — 
One high romance still throned in mist. 
By dreams of dawn forever kissed! 



You keep your secret still. I know 
To-night no more than years ago 
Why, of all mortal faces, yours 
Should stir the soul within me so — 

34 



Twenty Years After 

Old thoughts deep buried, not to rise, 
Live, and reproach me, in your eyes. 



VI 

Old thoughts, old visions, old beliefs, 
The thing I meant — but failed — to be! 
Ah well! — Good-night! our ways part here 
Ay — and hereafter! — Yet to see 
Your face for me that shadow wear 
Perhaps of heaven is one man's share! 



35 



ONLY A WORD 



ONLY a word! 
A little winged word 
Blown through the busy town, 
Lighter than thistle-down, 
Lighter than dust, by roving bee or bird 
Brushed from the blossoming lily's golden crown, 
Borne idly here and there. 
Oft as the summer air 
About men's doors the sunny stillness stirred. 

Only a word! 
But sharp — O, sharper than a two-edged sword, 
To pierce and sting and scar! 



II 

Only a word! 
A little word that fell 
Unheeded as the dew 
That from the darkling blue 
36 



Only a Word 

Of summer midnight softly steals to tell 
The tale of tinkling brook and star-lit dell 

In yonder noisome street. 
There, pale with dust and heat, 
The little window-flower in workman's cell 

Its drooping bell 
Lifts up to meet the kiss it knows so well. 

A word — a drop of dew — 
But 0, its touch could life's lost hope renew! 



37 



AT LAST 



I BUILT my bower in summer weather, 
A bower no birdie need disdain, 
Where two that loved might live together, 
Safe sheltered from the wind and rain; 
For now that woods are green, said I, 
The Bird I love will hither fly. 



II 

The summer roses bloomed and perished. 
The brooks grew silent in the grass, 

Vain were the May-time hopes I cherished; 
My Bird was but a dream, alas! 

And thick about my lonely eaves 

Began to fall the fading leaves. 

38 



At Last 



III 



And now the sky was drear November's, 
And roared the wind and plashed the rain; 

Sadly I brooded o'er the embers, 

When, hark, against my window-pane 

A flutter faint, a cry, I heard, — 

I sprang to open — 'twas my Bird! 



IV 



A tiny thing to brave such weather — 
Its eyes were dim and chilled its feet; 

Rain dripped from every drooping feather. 
But O, its note was passing sweet! 

I caught it close, I held it fast; 

Love sings within my bower at last! 



39 



MEMORIES 



DORA '11 be married to-morrow! Dora, the youngest 
of all! 
But yesterday she was the baby; now she is 
twenty — and tall, 
Taller than Helen or Margaret — a bride, and going 

away! 
And this old, sad house is once more bedecked for a 
wedding day. 



II 

There '11 be bustle enough in the morning, what with 

dressing the bride. 
And wedding guests to welcome, and Dora's last packing 

beside; 
To-night how quiet the house is! I hear but the wind's 

low moan. 
And the ticking clock in the corner. 'T will be so when 

she is gone! 

40 



Memories 



III 

To-morrow I must be cheerful. Tears, to be sure, I 

shall shed; 
Tears for Dora, they will be; not for myself, nor the 

dead. 
But to-night when nobody heeds me and all the house 

is asleep, 
Dora herself would forgive me this sitting awhile to 

weep. 

IV 

Ten years! — And it seems but a moment! Ten years 

ago to-night 
And I was our Margaret's bridesmaid, gay with a girl's 

delight. 
Fair, and so glad to be fair — for there was one to see! 
deep and fond was the look in his eyes that night for 

me. 



Nobody knew that I loved him. Nobody ever dreamed 
I was more to him than the others; and yet to my heart 
it seemed 

41 



Memories 

We two, in a secret heaven — the heaven of bliss denied — 
Were alone in the world together, when he was by my 
side. 

VI 

He might not speak, and I knew it — but what was 

that to me? 
Hope is the slave that trembles; Despair is fearless 

and free. 
He came for his own: I gave it, unasked. Was it mine 

to keep.'' 
— How else could I bear to remember that grave in 

the far cold deep.^ 



VII 

No words, but only a silence; no kiss, though we were 

alone; 
Not a sigh — his true heart guarded my secret as well 

as his own. 
But the clasp of that clinging hand, in his eyes that 

passionate claim! 
— So he left me. One week later, the news of the 

lost ship came. 

42 



Memories 

VIII 

None pitied me; how could I tell them? I mourned 

him all alone; 
I mourn you as much to-night, Love, now ten long years 

are flown! 
Margaret has her husband; Helen, husband and children, 

too; 
But I have nothing, Lawrence, only my dream of you. 



IX 

Only a dream, and yet — are the others so much more 

blest? 
Sometimes I could almost think the sad, wronged love 

fares best. 
If that dream were the brief delusion that dies with the 

bridal hour 
Could I have borne its fading — my life's one perfect 

flower? 



It is pleasant to visit Margaret; her home is grand and gay, 
Her husband is in the Senate, and "a rising man," they 
say; 

43 



Memories 

They go everywhere together; he's polite to her, never 

unkind, 
And Margaret, I know, is learning woman's lesson — not 

to mind. 

XI 

Yet I cannot choose but remember their courtship of 

long ago, 
When Richard came so early and was always the last 

to go. 
How they sat and talked in the twilight or, leaning 

together, read 
In the book — or the broidery pattern — some wonderful 

thing unsaid. 

XII 

Does he ever care now to sit by her.'' Or know if she 

works or reads. ^ 
He has too much to do for his party to think of the 

life she leads — 
That life he had vowed to cherish! Sad mockery! Yet, 

I know, 
He is one of the world's good husbands. Perhaps it is 

always so. 

44 



Memories 



XIII 

They say it is always so, Love. Everything changes 

but you. 
Shall I blame Death.? What am I, then, that you might 

not have altered, too.^* 
Better my dead than their living, grown so careless and 

cold — 
Dearer the kiss never given, the tale that never was 

told! 



45 



THE CAPTAIN'S PRIZE 



SHE came to me! she came to me! 
As though a Httle bird should be 
Blown out upon this wintry sea, 
And, buffeted by storm and sleet. 
Drop on the deck here at my feet. 
Perhaps it was not wise nor well 
To seek such refuge. Who can tell.^ 
'T is not the shelter you 'd expect 
A bird or woman to select; 
Nor I the sort of fellow — just — 
A woman or a bird would trust. 
But here she is. What 's next, we '11 see. 
Up anchor, shake the mainsail free! 
One thing is sure — she came to me! 



II 

A year ago I did not dare 
To ask this lady could she care 
My wild and wandering life to share; 
46 



The Captain's Prize 

Too bold a question that, for me — 
I, but a graceless sailor — she, 
The fairest, daintiest, stateliest girl. 
Of all her haughty house, the pearl! 
See, now! Two little feet are set 
Beside me, in the wind and wet; 
The salt spray sparkles in her hair; 
She turns her face to me — take care. 
Sweetheart! between the wind and me. 
You '11 think we have wild ways at sea! 
And yet — you know you came to me! 



Ill 

All's well! — the ship begins to feel 
The long swell underneath her keel; 
The harbor-lights behind us reel; 
Far out, in rain and darkness, soon 
We shall be running free; no moon 
Nor star. Sweet, in the sky above; 
Nor pilot wanted, now — but Love! 
Give me those little hands that seem 
To make all true that else were dream! 
They 're mine — and yet, on sea or shore, 
47 



The Captain's Prize 

I never shall be master more; 

For O, there is such sovereignty 

In their soft touch, their silent plea — 

God knows, my Dear, you came to me! 



48 



TOUT LJSSE: TOUT CJSSE: TOUT PJSSE 

Gerard de Nerval 



Tout lasse ? — Even so! — The tired child, wearied with 

his play, 
Lets fall the toy that charmed him for 

a day; 
Murmuring, into the mystery of Night 
He sinks — and wakens to a world of 

light. 



II 

Tout casse? — Time crushes under foot the crumbling 
shell; 
Perish each tint that with the rainbow 
vies! 
Is thine the secret of that ruined cell? 
Then in thy hand its deathless beauty 
lies. 

49 



Tout Lasse: Tout Casse: Tout Passe 



III 

Tout passe? —T\\Q light, the shadow of this mortal day — ■ 
Sorrow and joy — how fast they fleet 

away, 
To blend as one in His eternal thought, 
Where Love abides — and all that Love 
hath wrought! 



50 



THE HOUR WILL COME 



NOT yet — not yet! Between the night and morn 
There is an hour, uncheered by moon or star, 
That hungers for the day — the day unborn. , 
Never seems light so far 
As when that hour sits, darkling and forlorn. 
Waiting, as we wait, on the verge of morn. 



II 



Not yet — not yet! When, all athirst for rain, 

The hot fields gasp, and up the sultry sky 
The great clouds gather, darkening o'er the plain, 

Earth stills her faintest sigh; 
She waits — as we wait — dumb, in patient pain. 
The crash with which the tempest breaks its chain. 



51 



The Hour will Come 



III 



Not yet — not yet! When, flooded full with streams 

From mountain height and glen, the river wide 
Brims near its thundering fall, how still it gleams! 

No ripple stirs the tide 
That waits — as we wait — holding hushed in dreams 
The fate with which its current darkly teems. 



IV 

The hour will come! — the dawn, the thunder-peal. 

The weltering plunge of waters down the steep: 
Ay — thrones, dominions, powers, in terror reel. 

Deep calling unto deep. 
And star to star, when Judgment breaks the seal. 
And tyrants learn, at last, with whom they deal! 



52 



THE POET'S GRAVE 

FOR him no bitter tears we shed; 
Rather, self-pitying, we sit and weep 
That we are left, around his bed. 
These annual rites of memory to keep 
Ere we shall with our friend be laid, 
Through the long summer days with him to sleep 
Beneath the old oak's whispering shade. 

Where doth he wait for us? To-night 
Methinks the blooming earth and fragrant air 

Should bring his dear ethereal sprite 
To seek, this eventide, the old wood where 

At eventide we used to meet. 
And dream away day's sordid strife and care. 

Till dews were thick beneath our feet. 

A sweet and noble soul was he; 
Too finely strung for this world's tuneless touch, 
But breathing purest melody 
53 



The Poet's Grave 

Of thought divine and tenderness to such 
As loved him, — all too well aware, 

Of weary worldliness and strife how much 
His shrinking spirit needs must bear. 

Alone with blossoms, birds and bees, 
At last he sleepeth in the ancient shade ; 

No voice, save murmur of the breeze. 
And whispers in the flowery grass o'erhead 

To mingle with his dream of peace — 
If thou, our Poet, in the mould low laid 

Dream still, where thou hast found release. 



54 



ON THE WAY HOME 



THY light streams far, thou gladdening star, 
O'er vale and forest, tower and town; 
From land and sea men look to thee 
In every clime, as night comes down: 
And yet, were all the eyes that mark 
Thy rising, closed in endless dark, 

Undimmed would ghtter still 
Thy bright, unpitying spark. 



II 



I heed thee not. In yonder cot. 
As home I haste, from toil set free, 

Though dark and damp, the casement lamp 
Shines clear, across the fields, for me. 

Dear light! dear heart! how well I know 

If bitter death should lay me low 
Dark would that casement be. 

And quenched your winsome glow! 

55 



PERSICOS ODI, PUER, APPARATUS 

Horace. Odes, I, XXXVIII 



ALL this parade, Boy, that the Persian 
Makes o'er his cups is my aversion! 
These wreaths you bind 
Of linden rind 
Are nowise to my taste; and, mind, 
I '11 have no searching up and down 
For some late rose 
That, lingering, blows 
Our little feast to crown! 



II 

Nor do I choose you should be taking 
More time and pains than go to making 

The twist you may. 

Of myrtle spray, 
Weave fresh, the year round, any day — 

S6 



Persicos Odi, Puer, Apparatus 

Fit leaf for you, who pour my wine, 

And me, I think, 

Who sit and drink, 
Beneath the tangled vine. 



57 



DICK THE DISCONTENTED 



""TF I had but a home of my own," said he; — 
I Poor fellow, how sadly he sighed as he said it — 
"If I had but a home of my own you would see 

How steady and sober and saving I 'd be. 

Though for that, now, you give me no credit. 

II 

"To think I may never get quit of that trunk. 

And die after all in a lodging-house attic! 
So low at the prospect my spirits have sunk 
You may thank your good stars I don't go and get drunk, 
Or pitch into some scrape, as bad and emphatic." 

Ill 

"Dick, dearie," she said, "now you're foolish indeed, 

Not to say you are really a little — ungrateful! 
We can't have our house yet, but what is the need 
Of sulking and threatening.'' — You're bound to succeed. 
It's this grumbling, I tell you, makes poverty hateful! 

58 



Dick the Discontented 



IV 

"And no home of your own, Dick? Why, where are 
your wits? 
Here 's your home — ■ in my heart, where you 're master 
forever, 
Such a nice cosy corner, where nobody sits 
But your own precious self! Very ill it befits 
A fellow with your luck to talk about 'never'! 



" . . .0 there now! come Dicky, be sensible, do! 

I really must finish this hat. See, to-morrow 
We will walk in the Park — and the hat must go too, 
With a rose and a ribbon set on, to please you! 

For which I had neither to beg nor to borrow. 

VI 

"Good-night! go your ways! — I've heard something 
to-day 
I may mention to-morrow, if you behave better. 
I was told not to tell, so I hardly can say — 
O such luck for us both! But it's late: you can't stay. — 
You may take it and read it; it's all in that letter!" 

59 



SUNT LACHRYM^ RERUM 



SHE wept; her tears like summer rain 
Revived the beauty of her flower-like face; 
She sighed — for wonder more than pain, 
And, sighing, found she gained an added grace! 
She wept, and sighed. 



II 

You think she did not care. She did, 
For him who never wish of hers denied. 

Nor should the deeper grief be hid; 
She cared for many a thing that with him died: 
So, wept and sighed. 



Ill 

Sorry and scared may yet be shrewd! 
Wealth, homage, love, her beauty still might buy; 

Sorrow prolonged might prove too rude, 
Ay! — mar that face on which she must rely! — 
Her tears she dried. 
60 



A REMONSTRANCE 

{Addressed to one who asserted that man's friendship was worth more than 
woman's love.) 



u 



NCERTAIN, capricious, inconstant, untrue, 

A creature that can't be relied on — 
Tliat 's the verdict of man, whose life 's but a span. 
Presuming our sex to decide on! 



II 

His life's but a span; somewhat brief, one would 
think. 

For a just and complete j-^//"-inspection, 
Without complicating the task by debating 

How far woman falls short of perfection! 

Ill 

And you too, though no woman-hater, my friend, 
— More cruel, perhaps, because kinder — 

Even you echo shabbily: '^ Farium et viutahile 
She proves, wheresoever you find her." 

6i 



A Remonstrance 



IV 



''''Place aux dames^^ for awhile! Let a woman explain 

Those similes graceful, but bitter, 
With which civilized man, since discussion began, 

Illustrates his rule — not to hit her! 



There 's the moon, type of female inconstancy? Well, 
Don't you know that her changes are due 

To the smiles and the frowns, the ups and the downs 
Of her master — as ours are to you? 

VI 

There's the wind, blowing hither and thither? 'Tis said 

Woman's fancy is fickle as air; 
But the vacuum still that she 's trying to fill — 

Ah! 'tis caused by a coldness, somewhere! 

VII 

Bring on all your emblems! The dew and the mist, 
Sea and cloud, image woman's caprices? 

But observe, if you please, how each one of these 
Confirms me in my exegesis. 

62 



A Remonstrance 



VIII 



Under infinite aspects, each still is the same 

Vital element, pure and persistent, 
You 'd tire of all beauty — 't would fail of its duty, 

Were its forms ever fixed, near or distant. 



IX 



Thus, her mood ever changing, her mind still the same, 
Woman 's true, though she seem like a traitor; 

One end she 's pursuing, whatever she 's doing. 
And she reaches it. sooner or later! 



63 



A CHALLENGE 



HE thinks himself granite. That suits him right 
well, 
Steadfast and stern as the mountain wall yonder! 
Well, let him be granite, but I '11 be the brook 

Through cranny and crevice commissioned to wander; 
The little brook, talking and teasing all day, 
Darkling or bright, in its mischievous play 
Wearing the heart of the granite away! 



II 

He may be ice, too, if that 's to his mind, 

Silent and cold as the winter-locked river! 
He shall be ice — yes, and I '11 be the star 

That delights on its surface to sparkle and quiver; 
The little star, lonely and daring and shy. 
Which nobody marks as it creeps up the sky, 
Its face, in the ice-mirror imaged, to spy. 

64 



A Challenge 

III 

Or he may be iron — good steel, I '11 allow; 

A blade rarely tempered, sharp, subtle and splendid! 
But I '11 be the lightning to dance on its point 
By laws of electric attraction defended. 

Brook, lightning, or star: there's a choice of the 

three 
In what shape I may come; but I vow he shall 

see — 
Ice, iron and granite don't terrify me! 



6S 



IN OLD MADRID 



SWEET, my red geranium flower! 
Peeping through my lattice screen, 
Like a maiden from her bower, 
Forth, I pray thee, look and lean, 
When far down the street thou hearest 
Step of him my heart holds dearest. 
Naught to fear, if thou art seen 
Keeping watch in shine or shower. 
Wishing, waiting, hour by hour; 
Spiteful though the neighbors be 
None will think to mock at thee. 
Hark! he's coming! — Yes, 'tis he! 
Nod, dear flower! The wind blows free, 
Nod — and if he seem to see. 
Say one little word for me! 



66 



In Old Madrid 



II 



Tell him what my mirror shows — 
Tresses glossy, black as night, 
Brow of pearl, and lips of rose, 
Dark-lashed eyes whose glances bright 
Many a cavalier says, sighing, 
Would reward a man for dying. 
(This, of course, is far from right!) 
But that I am fair, he knows. 
Oft his looks the truth disclose; 
Tell him I am good, likewise. 
Very grave, discreet, and wise; 
True I am, and scorn all lies. 
Such as that Dolores tries 
When she, whispering, sits and spies 
Yonder, while her needle flies! 



Ill 



Bolder maid I never knew! 
Like a parrot on its perch 
Twists her neck the street to view 
While the pious come from church, 
67 



In Old Madrid 

And the young gallants are prancing, 
Bowing here and there, and glancing! 
Ah, they pass! — And you may search, 
He 's not there! And not for you 
The rose that in our courtyard fell 
Last night, by the moonlit well! 
I 'm no tattler, nor shall tell 
Any soul how that befell! 



O, I hope he loves me! Yet 

So are maidens oft deceived; 

Men their fancies soon forget. 

Then the foolish one is grieved; 

And with grief, one's bloom 's departed. 

Keep me, O sweet saints, light-hearted! 



68 



AFTER THE BALL 



OOD-NIGHT! If you and I were lovers 
I'd say, "Good-night and dream of me," 
But prudence now — or pride — discovers 
How very foolish that would be. 



G 



II 

Since not a shadow of Love's blindness 
Lurks in those eyes of yours, to bless 

The man they dazzle with their kindness, 
What use in signals of distress? 



Ill 

Look! — o'er yon sand-bar sails the moon; her 
Smile, cool, brilliant, and remote, 

Not much avails that luckless schooner 
Fast stranded. Better keep afloat! 

69 



After the Ball 



IV 



Good-night! 'tis I must do the dreaming; 

Your pillow dews oblivious steep. 
Day's loss in Lethe thus redeeming 

Is Beauty's secret. You will sleep! 



But when, with bird and rose, you waken 
And count your conquests, do me right; 

I shall be wishing then I 'd taken 
Another sort of leave! — Good-night! 



70 



SERENADE 



DO not wake, thou Dearest! 
No, no, sleep! 
While in dreams thou hearest 
Voices low and deep, 
With pause and cadence, creep 
Through all the winding ways 
That weave their mystic maze 
Around thy maiden heart, 
Bid them not depart — 
No, no, sleep! 



II 

Do not wake, thou Dearest! 
No, no, sleep! 

Love, since Love thoii fearest, 
Dreaming too, shall weep 
The peace he needs must keep; 
71 



Serenade 

Yet song and dream may dare 
Breathe, still, Love's tender prayer; 
Nor fright thy maiden heart. 
Bid not Love depart — 
No, no, sleep! 



72 



WHY? 



WHY do I love you? I don't know! 
They say Love never gives a reason; 
But that he has one I don't doubt, 
Do you? That's nothing less than treason! 



II 

Not always, let me tell you, Dear, 

Love practised such excess of prudence; 

'T was once his custom to explain 

His moods and methods to his students. 



Ill 

And how to solve each puzzling case 
He taught by rule and illustrations; 

But sceptics, such as you, have made 
Love shy of giving demonstrations. 
73 



Why. 



IV 



Why foolish mortals love at all, 

Why we two hold each other dearest, 

How long 't v/ill last, and how 't will end. 
You 'd like to know, you precious querist! 



You never will! I '11 tell you that! 

Yet still maintain my first assertion; 
Love understands what he 's about, 

And blinds us, just for his diversion. 

VI 

Ah, why I love you? If I knew, 

I would not tell you. — No, no, never! 

For souls like yours and mine were made 
To play at hide and seek forever. 

VII 

There's little you do not find out, 

But since that little makes life pleasant, 

I think I '11 keep the secret still. 

And so keep you, too — for the present! 
74 



SONNETS — I 

SWEET is that solitude where one dear face 
Makes all the world! — that face wherein I read 
Whatever 's best in letters, art, or creed, 
And all that 's fair in manners, good in men, 
By Love translated! In some loneliest glen 
'T were bliss to dwell, sole student of thy grace. 
Each day's new lesson in thy looks to trace! 
And yet, in street, or hall, or market-place. 
That face remembered makes a solitude 
Divinely deep, where nothing mean or rude 
Dares enter in. My Love! with thee abides 
The charm that binds the earth, the stars, the tides: 
Beloved by thee, where'er I rest or roam, 
Dwells in my heart serene, the unalterable home! 



75 



SONNETS — II 

LOVE came to thee as when among the hills 
The April torrent leaps its bank, and breaks 
Far down the valley in a flood that wakes 
The startled herdsman, and with panic fills 
The plain for bridges wrecked and shattered mills. 
Homestead and hamlet reel; but soon retakes 
The stream its channel, and with verdure makes 
The toiler glad, among the fields he tills. 
But hers the slower heart, that unawares 
Received the tribute of Love's hundred rills 
That steal in secret down to swell its strength, 
Till brimming high with all that Passion dares 
It bursts its builded barrier, and fulfils. 
With one sheer desperate plunge, its fate at length. 



76 



SONNETS — III 
SHEMNITZ 

AT Eden's gate a Harp, old legends say, 
Upborne by angels, waits: mark well the plan 
Devised in Heaven to try the Soul of Man! 
Six chords are seen whereon required to play, 
Whoso calls music forth has leave to stay; 
But though that soul escape the Judge's ban 
And sits expectant, for a granted span. 
Awaits it still another Judgment Day. 
For one deep chord unguessed that Harp contains; 
And he whose skill may o'er the rest prevail 
To draw from six their far-resounding strains, 
May yet to wake one note on Shemnitz fail. 
And whoso fails on Shemnitz, for his pains, 
Outside the gate, a stranger, still remains. 



77 



SONNETS — IV 
NOVEMBER 

ALAS! the bitter days before the snow! 
When Earth Hes like a corpse, unshrouded, bare, 
Dumb, desolate, cold, beneath the backward stare 
Of pale, receding suns; a primal woe 
Mourns in the wailing wind that fain would know 
The secret of this death of all things fair. 
Who shall make answer? Evermore aware 
Of Joy's dark ending, blindly man must share 
The doom sad Nature, seeking to foreshow. 
Writes in dead waste and ruin everywhere. 



So be it! Let Youth, Strength, and Beauty go — 
Even the heart's treasure — anguish past compare! 
We die; God lives! O earth-born, answered so. 
So armed — defy man's deadliest foe. Despair! 



78 



A LAST WORD 



NO song Is here for those the heart holds dearest; 
Deep is the silence In Love's hol^ places! 
Nor mine the gift to match dear names with 
music: 
And yet, methinks I sometimes see their faces 
And hear their voices, for one happy moment, 
Amid the alien words my fancy traces. 



II 

Ah, then I know the song, whate'er it may be. 
Hath found Its key-note in their very being: 

Their lives, their spirit wake the passion in me 
To seize the joy, the sorrow, past us fleeing 

On that swift tide of Time, that sweeps forever 
Sorrow and joy to shores beyond our seeing. 



79 



FOR KATHARINE AND ELIZABETH 

{jEtat. 8 and 5) 



A FAIRY SONG 



FAIRIES, wake! — the sun is set: 
Tree and turf with dew are wet, 
And the moon with laughing light 
Peeps above yon mountain height, 
While beneath her witching beam 
Mortals lie abed, and dream! 



II 



Now with tiny leaps, unseen. 
We '11, across the shadowy green. 
Steal far down the darkling dell, 
And where tall ferns shield us well 
Linger in the dusk to hear 
Sounds too fine for mortal ear. 



83 



A Fairy Song 



III 

List — and hear the sweet Bluebell 
Ringing slow its fairy knell! 
Far and near amid the grass, 
Where no ruthless footsteps pass, 
Rings the Bluebell, sweet and low, 
Good-night to the elves below. 



IV 

Hark! and hear the Windflower sigh 
When the night-breeze wanders by! 
Hear the little whispering wings 
Of those merry moonlight things 
Who from silver cup-lets pour 
Dew for every thirsty flower! 



O, but haste! — No more delay! 
Now 's the time to dance and play! 
Off with many a hop and skip 
Down the woodland path we slip — 
84 



A Fairy Song 

Trip and skip through hollows dark 
Lighted by the Firefly's spark, 
Till we reach the moonlit glen 
Hidden deep from eyes of men, 
Where from forest cave and cell 
Thronging Fairies rush pell-mell. 
And with bow and courtesy meet. 
Pause, their lovely Queen to greet. 



VI 

Queen Titania, like a star. 
Shining from her throne afar, 
High upon a mossy mound 
Bids the Trumpet Blossoms sound, 
Waves her hand, and with a glance. 
Smiling, gives us leave to dance. 



VII 

How the fairy maids and men 
Sparkling, fly to partners then! 
Queen's Own minstrels, twelve all told, 
Crickets stalwart, black and bold, 

85 



A Fairy Song 

Beat their tambours with a din 
That bids us leap and whirl and spin. 
Wild the music, wild the glee! 
Bird and squirrel, from their tree 
Peer, our tiny troupe to see, 
At our midnight revelry. 
Snake and toad come never near; 
Spiders flee in mortal fear. 



VIII 

But, alas! the eastern sky 
Shows the streak that bids us fly; 
Ended now is all our fun; 
Fairies do not love the sun. 
Queen Titania lifts her hand, — 
Vanish all! — at her command. 



86 



IN A CLOSET 



ODEAR! and it's all your own fault, Allie, 
Why would you keep swinging that door? 
Now we both are shut up in the closet, 
And can never get out any more — 
That is, never more till Mamma comes, 
And she '11 not be at home until four! 
She can't know how dark it is, in here. 
And somehow, so smothered and tight! — 
O Allie, you don't mean you 're crying? 
No, we're not going to stay here all night! 
Put your little face up to the keyhole 
And see what a pretty, bright light! 



II 

Allie dearie, you are not a baby! 
And you never should scream and give way 
To your feelings like that; and don't bang so! 
There 's nobody up-stairs to hear us. 
Stop crying! Be good and we '11 play. 

87 



In a Closet 

In this closet are all Mamma's dresses: 
I can feel the black silk, and the fur 
On her nice winter coat; you feel, Allie! 
'T is almost as if we had her. 
And something so sweet, and just like her, 
Shakes out of her things when we stir. 



Ill 

I wish we could see! Here 's her bonnet 
With the lovely pink rose and lace bow. 
I '11 tell you what we can be thinking — 
We are like poor blind children, you know! 
They must feel to find out. I am thankful 
We shall not always have to do so! 
They can't see their father nor mother. 
Nor their cat, nor a bit of blue sky. 
Nor anything else in the world! Think, 
They must stay in the dark till they die. 



IV 

We too must have patience, pretending 
We're blind. Sit by sister — don't stand! 
Never mind about cutting out pictures, 



In a Closet 

People can't always do what they 've planned. 
It 's nice in the dark telling stories — 
Give sister your soft little hand! 



hark! the clock strikes in the study! 

1 '11 count, Allie. One — two — three — four! 
Very soon now Mamma will be coming — • 
There she is — only one minute more! — 
How glad the poor blind people must be 
When the good Angel opens the door! 



89 



PRO BONO PUBLICO 



HYMN FOR DECORATION DAY 



SWEET smiles our mother earth to-day, 
As in her childhood's dawn of yore: 
The sunshine and the rains of May 
Awake her heart to bloom once more, 
Nor lingers in her Spring-time face 
One thought of Winter's bitter days. 



II 

Yon hills that whitened in the blast 
Are green from foot to crown again, 

And streams that ice had fettered fast 
Ring music with their broken chain: 

Where howled the wind and whirled the snow. 

The wild bird sings, the violets blow. 



93 



Hymn for Decoration Day 



III 

O hearts that bleed, O souls that cry 
Against the working of His will 

Whose storms leave sunshine in the sky, 
Whose darkness bids the dew fall still, 

Behold how soon His gracious years 

Bring joy for mourning, light for tears! 

IV 

No more the battle-tempest raves, 
Nor blood of brothers stains our sod: 

They slumber in untroubled graves 

Who passed through mortal strife to God; 

While softly stirs above the dead 

The sign for which their blood was shed. 



They sleep, who heard the cannon roar. 

The squadrons charge, the steel blades clang; 

Far from their dreams forevermore 

The onset fierce, the death-stroke's pang; 

The pain is past — the peace they won 

Shines sweet and steadfast as the sun. 

94 



Hymn for Decoration Day 



VI 



O therefore is it meet to bring 

Our garlands to the soldier's tomb, 

When sweetest blossoms of the Spring 
In Winter's frosty footsteps bloom, 

And Hope anew repeats to men 

That even this dust shall live again. 



95 



A SONG OF THE CENTURY 

{Written for the centennial anniversary of the incorporation of the town of 
Waterville, Maine, June 23, 1802.) 



WHO will not love his country — the dear land 
where he was born? 
And we who love thee in our pride, to-day will 
love thee more, 
Thou who sittest between the Seas with a hand on 

either shore! 
The sunset gold is in thy locks, thy face is toward the 

dawn. 
And in thy lap the orchards lie, the vineyards and the 
corn. 

II 

Thy mountain heights stand guard for aye; their white 

crests greet the sun; 
League on league thy forests marshal their serried pines 

below; 
A hundred rivers draw thy streams, rushing sea-ward as 

they go 

96 



A Song of the Century 

With the tribute of thy harvests and the triumphs thou 

hast won — 
Iron fruit of forge and furnace — who hath wrought 

as thou hast done? 



Ill 

The roar of mighty cities — the din of steel-clad ways 
that meet 

And clang and cross each other thou hearest, night 
and day, 

But thou 'rt hearkening to the children in their school- 
time and their play, 

And they grow to fight thy battles and fling beneath 
thy feet 

The accursed fraud and falsehood that would mar thy 
forehead sweet. 



IV 

Thy voice is heard in the Old World; they listen there 

— and heed : 
"What child of yesterday is this, that bids us all beware? 
"She waxes bold as beautiful, she has strength and gold 

to spare!" 

97 



A Song of the Century 

So they forge their guns and build their ships, and are 

thy friends indeed; 
While England laughs across the Sea — "Blood tells — 

we know the breed!" 



O well it is to dwell with thee, North or South, or East 

or West, 
But in all thy pleasant borders from the mountains to 

the Sea, 
The valley of the Kennebec is the place where I would 

be! 
And here 's a little City, dearer far than all the rest; 
'T is her hundredth birthday! — cheer her now, you who 

know her best! 



VI 

You who know how fair her homes are beneath the 

summer shade, 
How many churches lift their spires — how trimly court 

and lawn 
With verdure charm the stranger's eye — how cheerily 

at dawn 

98 



A Song of the Century 

Bell and whistle wake her echoes — how Time's magic 

touch has laid 
A spell upon her College walls whose memory shall not 

fade! 

VII 

Look back to the old Taconnet; your Waterville lies 
there, 

A cluster of rude dwellings in the clearing by the 
stream 

Where the shining salmon leaps; and the prowling wild- 
cat's scream 

At midnight scares the settler, in his troubled dream 
aware 

Of the dreaded Indian war-whoop and the burning roof- 
tree's flare. 

VIII 

Other days and other lives now! But many a time, 

since then, 
In peace and war the little town has borne her part right 

well. 
She has her roll of heroes — some who unrecorded 

fell. 

99 



A Song of the Century 

They have passed; but what they stood for, stands; 

this day we bless the men 
Who taught and toiled and fought for us with sword 

and spade and pen. 



IX 

They have passed — as we shall pass! Another century 

will see 
The green turf growing over our own unheeded dust; 
Well for thee, O little City, if some lives, generous, pure, 

and just. 
Sow in thee to-day the seed whose fair harvest then 

shall be 
A city's crown of glory — a people worthy to be free! 



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